a 


THE  JAMES  D.  PHELAN 
CELTIC   COLLECTION 


POEMS 


POEMS 

BY   LEONARD   SHOOBRIDGE 

fi 


LONDON:  JOHN  LANE  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY  MCMX 


PHEUN 


Turnbull  &  Spears,  Printers,  Edinburgh 


CONTENTS 


PACK 

MORNING  3 

"  GUESSED  IN  YOUR  LOOK  "  4 
"ONCE  AS  A  BIRD  IN  THE  HAND  SOFT  AND  NEAR"           5 

BEFORE  AND  AFTER  6 

GONE  ABOVE  TO  HIS  PLACE  8 

"  HE  POURED  THE  VITAL  ROSEATE  WINE  "  IO 

"  THE  DREAM  WAS  OF  A  GOLDEN  STAR  "  1 1 

"  HE  CALLED  THE  BREEZES  OF  THE  SOUTH  "  12 

"  WE  LINGERED  ON  THE  STAIRS  TO  SEE  "  1 3 

"  THE  PATHOS  OF  THE  PASSING  YEAR  "  14 

PARTED  1 5 

LAST  ECHOES  1 6 

A  THOUGHT  17 
"  I  KNOW  THE  WEALTH  THAT  DECKS  THE  SHRINE  "      1 8 

"ALL  LIVES  BY  DEATH,    so  BEATS  EACH  HEART"        19 

"  IT  IS  THE  DEEP  RELENTLESS  STREAM  "  2O 

"  LONG  YEARS  AGO  "  21 

A  HOUSE  UNINHABITED  23 

SOLITUDINES  24 

"  THE  SPIRIT  WANDERS  IN  THE  HILLS  "  25 

IN  THE  OPEN  26 

"  UCCELLI  CHE  SONO  IN  MARE  "  27 

"  WAS  IT  OURS  THAT  DISTANT  PAIN  ?  "  29 

AT  NIGHT  30 

LECTORI  SALVE  31 
V 


802195 


vi  CONTENTS 

II 

PAGE 

"  HOMES  OF  THE  SOUL  "  35 

FEBRUARY  37 

TO  A  PICTURE  38 

UNA  QUIDEM  EST  CONSOLATIO  39 

ANIMULA  40 

EARLY  MARCH  41 

THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  42 

"  YOU  ARE  NOT  SHE  "  44 

RAIN  45 

"  I  LOVE  TO  TAKE  YOUR  HAND  AND  GO  "  46 

"  THE  HOUSE  IS  JUST  AS  STATELY  ;   FAIR  "  48 

"  THE  DAY  WAS  PERFECT,  AND  THE  PERFECT  BLUE  "    49 

ECHOES  51 

SOUVENIR  D'UN  AMI  53 

SEPTEMBER  54 

"THE  AUTUMN  DIES  ;  THE  HAUNTING  SNOW "  55 

"  THUS  I  WOULD  HAVE  IT.    YOU  SHOULD  BE "  56 

NOVEMBER  57 

"  THE  TWILIGHT'S  GRADUAL  DEEPENING  "  58 

DECEMBER  59 

"  A  LILT  OF  WORDS  IS  IN  THE  EAR  "  6 1 

III 

IN  THE  BREEZE  65 

"  MIRROR  HIGH  SET  AND  SILENT  AS  A  STAR  "                   66 

"  YOU  RAISE  A  CHILD  UP  FOR  A  WHILE  "  67 

EVENING  RAIN  68 

IN  THE  VINEYARDS  7O 

HER  LOVE  71 

THE  JUDGE  72 

TWENTY  TO  THIRTY  74 

PRESENTIMENT  76 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

"  BOY'S  LOVE  !    UNCONSCIOUS  SPEAKING   OF   A 

RHYME "  77 

MOSAIC  78 

BY  THE  WINDOW  80 

BETWEEN  THE  DANCES  8 1 
"COLD  WORDS  YOU  SPOKE,  SOME  CHANCE  YOU 

FAILED "  82 

A  FACE  83 

PALE  GOLD  84 

"  WE  PARTED  AND  I  TOOK  MY  FILL  "  85 

AT  PALERMO  87 

IN  A  BALL-ROOM  89 

"  ALONE  ?— WITHIN  MY  FINGERS  SEEM  "  91 

SPRING  92 

TRIVIA  93 

"  WE  TWO  HAVE  KNOWN  EACH  OTHER  "  94 

ALONE  95 

AT  BAYREUTH  97 

THE  MOSLEM'S  TOMB  99 

MURANO  IQI 

HEIMWEH  102 

A  MIRROR  IO3 

BY  THE  SHORE  104 


IV 

VISHNU  107 

BY  THE  BULWARKS  109 
"  WE  HAVE  TWO  MOODS,  TWO  VISIONS,  IF  WE 

WILL"  no 

IN  THE  PARTHENON  III 

IN  THE  LUXEMBOURG  112 
"  TO  FRETFUL  MAN  ONE  SINGLE  SPEECH  HAVE 

ALL"  113 

"  SOME  WEEP  FOR  COMMON  THINGS  "  1 14 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  PLANTATION  1 1 5 

HUMAYOUN  Il6 

"  LET  ME  PASS  IN  AND  BY  YOUR  SIDE  "  1 1 8 

KWANNON  119 

"IN  THAT  A  SHADOW  SEEMED  TO  PASS3'  121 

COGNITIO  122 

AT  CAIRO  123 

PROCESSIONAL  124 

AEOLIAN  126 

"  THE  OPAL'S  WORLD  OF  TENDER  GREYS  "  127 

LONDON,  1883  128 
"  O  MAY  THE  GODS  FORGIVE  US,  THAT  WE  PRIZE  "        129 

MADRIGAL  130 

A  POET.      FRESCO  AT  ORVIETO  131 

SEGESTE  132 

SECUNDRA  134 

A  ROMAN  PEASANT  136 

"  SINCE  AS  THE  FLYING  LEAVES  WE  ARE  "  138 
"AMIDST  OUR  FRIENDS  BESIDE  THEIR  LIVING 

EYES  AND  SPEECH  "  139 

SELINONTO  141 

ONLY  143 

OASIS  145 

BEETHOVEN  146 

SNOW  147 

"  AS  THE  SOUND  OF  THE  BELL  "  148 

NOR  YES  NOR  NO  149 

"  THERE  IS  NO  NAME  FOR  IT,  NO  SOUND  "  150 


POEMS 


MORNING 

SWEET  fresh  dawn  that  now  is  ours, 
Where  may  this  new  journey  lead — 
How  shall  this  day  seem  decreed' 
At  evening  hours  ? 

Within  the  space  of  tender  grey 
One  red  cloud  of  sunset's  hue 
Tells  that  night  shall  claim  its  due, 
At  close  of  day. 


GUESSED  in  your  look 
A  face  beyond,  above  ; 
You  were  the  book 
In  which  he  learned  to  love  : 

Held  in  your  touch 
He  dreamed  the  things  unseen  ; 
Sightless  his  eyes  for  such 
Had  not  your  kindness  been. 


ONCE  as  a  bird  in  the  hand 
Soft  and  near, 

You  are  flown  to  the  vacant  sky 
Which  is  blank  and  clear. 

Far  hence  it  seems  that  I  hear 
Your  sad  cry  : 

And  I  walk  in  a  darkening  land 
Where  memories  die. 


BEFORE  AND  AFTER 

How  will  you  seem 
Pale  hours  of  mingled  mist  and  light  ? 
A  tale,  an  omen  ?  echo,  or  a  dream, 
Soft  blindness  or  some  further  sight  ? 
Dust  in  the  day's  bright  beam, 
Fire-flies  across  the  sombre  night, 
When  the  one  hour  stands  high  above   your 
quivering  gleam  ? 

When  the  hour  lives  the  summing  up  of  all 

The  dimly  dreamed  ; 

When    in  the  dawn  the  voices  to   the  voices 

call 

A  clarion  clearness  where  the  mystery  seemed  : 
6 


BEFORE    AND    AFTER  7 

Pale  hours   that  lead  perchance   to  one   high 

pulse  supreme, 
Kind    hours    the    last    perchance    before    the 

shuddering  fall — 
How  will  you  seem  ? 


GONE  ABOVE  TO  HIS  PLACE 

MINE  was  thy  hand 
To  go  a  little  way ; 
I  will  not  ever  stand 
To  mar  thy  day  : 
Most  kind  to  stay 
Awhile  upon  thy  road  ; 
I'll  bear  the  after-load 
As  best  I  may. 

Home  is  for  such 
As  thou,  in  lands  apart ; 
Leave  but  a  footprint's  touch 
On  this,  my  heart. 


8 


GONE   ABOVE   TO    HIS    PLACE 

Gone,  mists  athwart, 

Far  hence,  who  wast  so  near  ; 

So  far  above,  but  dear 

As  still  thou  art. 


HE  poured  the  vital  roseate  wine  ; 
The  chasings  of  the  crystal  cup 
Illumined  as  the  wine  rose  up, 
Diamond  to  ruby,  shape  and  line. 

It  rose  and  quivered  to  the  rim, 

It  made  the  goblet's  lip  aglow : 

The  crystal's  finest  atoms  know 

The  warmth  and  wealth  that  come  from  him. 


10 


THE  dream  was  of  a  golden  star 
Set  in  the  night's  unfathomed  dome, 
It  moved  the  spirit  from  its  far 
Desire's  home. 

Somewhere  that  lamp  of  light  is  set 
Beyond  the  mists  that  move  between, 
And  if  it  be  not  shining,  yet 
The  dream  has  been. 


ii 


HE  called  the  breezes  of  the  south 
To  play  upon  the  clustering  hair, 
To  linger  on  the  roseate  mouth 
Sweet  sighs  evoking  there  : 

Sighs  in  the  soul,  and  fear,  and  all 
A  host  of  fancy's  shimmering  lights  ; 
Gleams  in  the  dusk,  when  love-notes  call 
Through  perfumed  sultry  nights. 


12 


WE  lingered  on  the  stairs  to  see 

The  close  of  day  : 
You  seemed  too  sweet  and  dear  to  me 

For  words  to  say. 

We  watched  the  moon  rise  up  the  pane, 

Close  to  a  star : 
Ah — moments  may  not  come  again 

That  perfect  are. 


THE  pathos  of  the  passing  year, 
The  oft-repeated  ever  true 
Analogy,  of  death  more  near 
To  me  and  you  ; 

Enwraps  us  in  a  tender  fear, 
Has  rilled  the  autumn  day  we  see, 
And  makes  each  passing  moment  dear 
To  you  and  me. 


PARTED 

So  very  little  some  might  say, 
Yet  just  enough  to  part  us  twain  : 
And  we  must  follow  each  our  way 
Nor  hope  to  meet  indeed  again. 

Speak  shall  we  ?     Yes  ;  the  words  that  know 
Scarce  kindred  with  the  very  sweet 
Few  words  you  spoke  :  and  we  shall  grow 
More  far  apart  each  time  we  meet. 


LAST  ECHOES 

YOUR  hands  no  longer  touch  the  keys, 
Your  voice  no  longer  fills  the  air, 

The  room's  the  same,  the  flowers,  the  trees, 
Another  sings  the  music  there. 

Within  the  words  you  used  to  sing, 
Within  the  notes  you  used  to  play, 

A  power  is  silent  and  they  ring 
No  more  as  once  they  did,  to-day. 

And  in  the  heart  that  beat  so  fast, 
That  each  one  thing  in  you  did  prize, 

Is  silence  too  ;  and  saddest,  last, 
The  tears  are  dry  within  the  eyes 
16 


A  THOUGHT 

THE  plumage  of  a  bird,  so  white — 
One  wave  upon  a  moon-lit  sea — 
Round  as  a  pearl  is  to  the  sight — 
Fair  as  a  sudden  melody  ; 

Dear  is  the  thought :  a  breath,  a  glow, 
It  moves  amid  the  air  of  things — 
And  ever  closer,  subtler,  grow 
The  mysteries  of  its  communings. 


I  KNOW  the  wealth  that  decks  the  shrine, 
Each  stately  pier,  each  fine-cut  gem  ; 
And  in  the  sky  the  diadem 
Of  marble  pinnacles  a-shine  : 

My  eyes  are  rich  in  thought  of  them — 

Yet  that  which  moves  me  through  and  through 
And  that  which  holds  my  life  in  grip, 
Is  neither  mind  nor  heart  nor  lip  ; 
But  you,  but  you  and  you. 


18 


ALL  lives  by  death.     So  beats  each  heart ; 
The  flowers  that  break  the  buds  apart 
Reveal  the  year's  recurrence  :  all 
Sweet  songs  in  measure  rise  and  fall. 

While  far  in  space  each  golden  sun 
Grows  warm  or  cold,  for  rest  is  none. 


IT  is  the  deep  relentless  stream 
Which  holds  us,  if  we  will  or  nay, 
Greater  than  we.     An  hour,  a  day, 
A  year,  what  matters  ?     All  is  dream. 

There  waits  the  greater  boundless  sea 
Before  us — hollow  vale  and  crest — 
Foam  to  the  stars — and  on  its  breast 
We  can  alone  contented  be. 


20 


LONG  years  ago 

The  great  bronze  bell 

Learnt  the  full  voice 

Of  that  deep  soul. 

We  listen  to  its  distant  toll, 

And  wonder,  is  there  any  choice 

To  bid  love  come  and  hatred  go  ? 

It  seems  to  tell 

Of  places  fair 

We  have  not  seen 

And  shall  not  see : 

The  might  have  been  that  will  not  be, 


21 


The  memories  that  have  not  been, 
The  wonders  in  the  islands  where 
Our  journeys  may  not  ever  go. 


22 


A  HOUSE  UNINHABITED 

FOR  I  had  meant  the  garden's  sweetness 
To  pass  through  windows  wide, 

That  summer's  wealth  in  rich  completeness 
Should  there  within  abide. 

And  I  had  meant  the  breath  of  roses, 
To  scent  our  house  all  through : 

But  few  things  come  as  love  proposes, 
And  I  was  nought  to  you. 


SOLITUDINES 

HIGH  in  the  branches,  hear,  a  cry 
Repeated  ;  something  living  knows 
The  terror  that  its  life  must  die. 

Lives  that  we  cannot  touch — 
And  we  ourselves  are  such 
As  those. 

The  land  has  sunk  below  the  sea, 
The  long  waves  heave,  the  darkness  grows  ; 
One  bird  still  tracks  the  ship,  and  we 
Watch  the  white  emblem  of  ourselves. 


24 


THE  spirit  wanders  in  the  hills 
Which  was  your  charm,  your  voice  ; 
Still  to  the  brim  our  fountain  fills. 

Whose  was  the  chance  or  choice  ? 

And  whence  the  change  from  choice  or  chance  ? 

I  mark  but  heartless  years 

Dropping  beneath  the  sunbeams'  dance 

To  fill  the  fount  with  tears. 


IN  THE  OPEN 

How  great  the  night,  how  still,  how  wide — 
Beneath  the  stars  on  every  side, 

The  trees,  the  fields,  the  woods  are  spread. 

Luxurious  greatness,  mighty  rest — 
The  earth  is  like  a  mother's  breast 

Whereon  may  sleep  life's  weary  head. 


26 


"  UCCELLI  CHE  SONO  IN  MARE  " 

BIRDS  of  the  sea — Birds  of  the  sea — 
On  the  air,  to  the  sea, 

On  the  air — 

Souls  of  the  dead — Gone  from  the  land 
From  the  touch  of  the  hand 
Going  where  ? 

Near  you  the  surge,  round  you  the  sky, 
And  the  ships  going  by 

On  their  way. 

Round  them  the  sea,  near  them  the  fate, 
Be  it  quick,  be  it  late, 
As  it  may. 


27 


28          "  UCCELLI    CHE    SONO    IN    MARE  " 

Groves  that  you  knew  shine  in  the  light 
Or  are  dim  through  the  night 

Dewy  wet. 

Hearts  that  have  loved,  loves  that  should  live, 
Will  forget  and  forgive, 
And  forget. 


WAS  it  ours  that  distant  pain  ? 
Quietness  falls  on  stream  and  hill, 
Plenitudes  of  colour  fill 
All  the  width  of  wood  and  plain. 

Thoughts  we  knew  so  harsh  and  weak, 
Wrought  to  chords  profound  and  strong  ; 
Changed  into  a  breath  of  song, 
Words  we  could  not  bear  to  speak. 


29 


AT  NIGHT 

THEY  look  within  each  other's  eyes, 
The  lake  to  star,  the  star  to  lake  : 
And  clouds  that  up  the  sky  arise 
Keep  still,  abashed,  for  pity's  sake. 

The  mountains  stand  in  silent  praise  ; 
No  ripple  mars  the  water's  sheen  : 
While  such  reunion  night  repays 
To  those  that  daylight  stood  between. 


LECTORI  SALVE 

COULD  one  but  know 
That  as  a  tendril  of  a  vine 
Suddenly  the  thought  will  grow — 
His  dream  from  mine. 

Then  winter's  rest 
Of  rugged  stems  that  lifeless  seem 
Were  surely  in  its  waiting  blest — 
His  life,  my  dream. 

His  fancy  shows 

Its  moving  tendril  fresh  and  fine ; 
All  shadowy  -our  trellis  grows — 
His  dreams  and  mine. 


II 


HOMES  of  the  soul, 
That  seemed  as  though  they  were 
Waiting  attuned  for  us  to  pass  the  gate 
When  first  we  came, 
Homes  of  the  soul — 
For  us  they  seem  to  live,  for  us  to  wait, 
Once    intimately    felt    and    so    eternally    the 
same. 

Wide  are  the  seas 

To  traverse,  and  the  plain 

Various,     rich,     before     we     pass     the     gate 

again, 

Move  in  again  beneath  the  shadowy  trees  : 
35 


To  hear  once  more 

The  same  chant  sung,  the  same  stream  fall, 

To  see  the  same  light  touch  the  glimmering 

wall, 
To    feel   the   same    thoughts    come    as    years 

before ; 

And    be    ourselves   the    same,   as   though   we 

dreamed 

The  journeying  hours,  unreal  now, 
That  in  their  passage  real  seemed. 


FEBRUARY 

ABOUT  us  fitful  strangeness  lay, 
As  round  the  snowdrops  lay  the  snow, 
That  each  night  fell,  but  passed  away 
Beneath  the  stronger  sunlight's  glow 
Each  longer,  almost  springlike  day. 

Till  last  the  true  spring  came  to  dwell 
Radiant  around  each  flower  and  leaf, 
And  no  more  snowflakes  ever  fell—- 
And strangeness,  once  so  real  a  grief, 
Seems  folly  now  we  love  so  well. 


37 


TO  A  PICTURE 

"  OH,  break  into  a  smile  and  own 

That  somewhere  in  some  quiet  place, 
There  dwells  a  mirage  of  the  face, 
The  dearest  I  have  ever  known. 

"  Nor  seem  remote  with  those  kind  eyes 
Ours  never  more  can  see  and  hold." 
The  tender  eyes  were  far  and  cold 
And  saddened  with  a  dim  surprise. 


UNA  QUIDEM  EST  CONSOLATIO 

SAFE  from  dragging  of  all  loads — 
Safe  from  trailing  of  the  feet — 

Could  you  tell  on  life's  strange  roads, 
What  fate  once  you  might  not  meet  ? 

Eyes  that  none  can  fill  with  tears — 

Heart  that  nought  can  wring  with  pain — 

Peaceful  through  all  troubled  years, 
Sleeping,  would  you  wake  again  ? 


39 


ANIMULA 

FINE  tremulous  flame, 

Alive  within  the  chamber  of  my  thought  alone, 

Familiar  still ;  for  all  the  outer  world  un- 
known— 

Forgotten  features,  voice  unwritten,  unre- 
membered  name. 

Poor  flickering  glow — 

While  yet   the  twilit    chamber   of  my  life   is 

mine 
Held    vital    yet,    since    memory    through    the 

darkening  shrine 
Moves  with   soft  feet   and   murmurs  thoughts 

that  paler  grow. 

40 


EARLY  MARCH 

WIDE  and  very  pure  and  still 
Faint  though  clear  by  plain  and  hill 
Abides  the  tender  wintry  sky. 

No  wind  there  is  :  a  warmer  ray 

Bids  us  call  it  Spring  to-day 

And  fancy  "  This  day  none  should  die." 

Very  good  to  breathe  and  dwell, 
Live  to-day :  and  yet  most  well 
Within  so  sweet  an  earth  to  lie. 

For  both  are  one,  the  life,  the  death. 
All  the  world  is  filled  with  breath 
That  pulses  rich  with  melody. 
41 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE 

"  FOLD,  grey  day, 
Your  mantle  grey, 
Of  grey  and  rainful  cloud  ; 
Let  every  loud 
Wind  hold  away." 

But  like  a  blast  across  the  moor 
Came  the  cry  of  the  weak  and  poor 
Between  the  night  and  day. 

"  Break,  brief  leaf, 
To  greenness  brief, 
And  brief  bright  summer's  hour 
Of  gleaming  flower 
Rich  golden  sheaf." 
42 


THE    RIFT    IN    THE   LUTE  43 

But  yet  by  branches  green  again 
Went  forth  a  cry  like  trembling  pain 
That  shivered  every  leaf. 
And  as  a  murmur  through  the  grass 
Moved  the  feet  of  lives  that  pass 
To  come  not  back  again. 


You  are  not  she : 

But  notes  within  your  utterance  sound 

Like  whispers  that  the  air  moves  round 

From  tree  to  tree. 

For  all  is  hers — 

The  tender  voice  of  countless  leaves, 
The  murmuring  of  golden  sheaves 
Or  moonlit  firs. 

She  is  no  more 

Within  my  reach  to  love :  and  yet 
Her  seal  on  all  I  love  is  set 
For  evermore. 
44 


RAIN 

SAD  heart,  vexed  spirit,  how  have  you  spent 

The  day  of  the  long  chill  rain, 
While  the  wind  from  the  west   with   its   wet 
blast  went 

By  the  windows  ever  again  ? 

I  thought  how  seldom  a  heart  draws  nigh 
A  heart  to  be  loved  and  known  ; 

How  the  wind  and  the  rain  and  the  human 

cry 
Sweep  on  through  the  world  alone. 


45 


"  I  LOVE  to  take  your  hand  and  go 

Beneath  blue  skies  : 
The  reds  of  roses  richer  grow 

Beneath  your  eyes  : 
I  think  I  hardly  knew  a  Spring, 

Till  you  were  there  : 
Or  poise  and  dart  of  swallow's  wing  : 

You're  everywhere." 

It  seemed  a  pretty  thing  to  say 

(I  felt  it  too), 
You  trembled  and  you  looked  away, 

I  turned  to  you  : 


46 


"But  I'd  be  only  in  one  place," 

You  breathed  and  sighed, 
"  Your  heart."     So  weaker  fancy's  grace 

You  thrust  aside. 


47 


THE  house  is  just  as  stately  ;  fair 
Its  gardens,  and  the  trees  have  grown 
Yet  higher,  nobler  :  she  alone 
Is  absent,  vanished,  that  was  there. 

Yet  all  the  rooms  are  sweet  and  still, 
Rich  too  with  scent  as  then  of  flowers 
Whose  radiance  fading  marks  the  hours 
In  vases  that  she  used  to  fill. 

While  summer  clouds  sweep  on  above 
And  in  the  gardens  thrushes  sing — 
There  wants  but  yet  one  other  thing, 
The  human  voice  I  used  to  love. 

48 


THE  day  was  perfect,  and  the  perfect  blue 
Of  sky  unbroken  by  one  shred  of  cloud, 
The    drowsy  earth   seemed    like    a   sleeper 
bowed, 

The  old  Hall  silent  with  its  grove  of  yew. 

We  stepped  inside  a  chamber  where  we  knew 
A  picture  hung  of  which  the  house  was  proud, 
By  Francia,  in  a  room  where  never  loud 

Voice  came  and  looking  where  the  lilies  grew. 

Its  mellow  sky  was  tender,  white  and  dim, 
Behind  the  bending  of  Madonna's  head, 
And  seemed  to  bless  the  faintly  broken 

plain. 
D  49 


And  there  we  saw  how  it  had  seemed  to  him 
Who  wrought  this  picture.       Whence  such 

light  was  shed 

As  made  that  day  grow  twice  more  fair 
again. 


5° 


ECHOES 

THE  world  seems  not  the  world,  although 

This  brook  is  real  and  past  its  bed 

Across  a  wide  dun  field  I  go, 

And  know 

Its  crop  is  harvested. 

My  soul's  apart  in  other  years 
Gone  on  before  in  some  dim  place, 
Or  dreads  new  life  that  nought  endears 
And  fears 
There  not  to  see  one  face. 

The  world  is  strange  and  blankly  fair. 
I  think  it  seems  as  it  would  be 
51 


52  ECHOES 

If  you  breathed  not  the  moving  air, 

Or  were 

Not  ever  dear  to  me. 


SOUVENIR  D'UN  AMI 

PINK  fragile  rose,  whose  petals  pale 
Grow  fainter  ever  as  they  leave 
Thy  central  depths  and  seem  to  grieve 

That  they  are  blanched,  that  they  are  frail. 

Some  poet  named  thee,  made  thee  speak 
The  sorrow  that  a  friend  must  bear, 
Who  feels  the  memories  that  were 

Most  strong  and  present,  pale  and  weak. 


53 


SEPTEMBER 

ALL  the  air  is  warm  and  still, 
All  our  garden  yet  is  bright, 
Nor  any  day  at  summer's  height 
Did  ever  richer  glory  fill. 

All  the  scents  are  full  and  sweet ; 
Where  our  arboured  path  is  green, 
Just  one  leaf  falls  down  between 
The  passage  of  our  moving  feet. 

Ah,  I  think  your  finer  sense 
Feels  some  touch  on  you  or  me, 
To  tell  how  winter  soon  will  be, 
Now  summer,  smiling,  passes  hence. 

54 


THE  autumn  dies  ;  the  haunting  snow 
Foretells  its  coming  through  the  air : 
The  field,  the  forest,  seem  to  know 
That  soon  it  will  be  lying  there. 

Is  such  grey  shade 

The  change  definitive,  to-day  ? 

So  many  days  have  light  and  darkness  made, 

Is  this  day  not  as  they  ? 


55 


THUS  I  would  have  it.     You  should  be 
The  master  of  the  ancient  place, 
And  I  your  guest.     Young  still  the  face, 
The  firelight  shows  it  keen  and  free. 

Fresh  from  our  ride  athwart  the  breeze 
We  linger  in  the  darkening  hall ; 
The  rooks  come  home,  a  call,  a  call — 
Then  all  is  silence  in  the  trees. 


NOVEMBER 

THE  silver  lights  of  dawn  remain 
On  past  the  noon  to  evening's  hour, 
The  shifting  mist  returns  again, 
And  slowly  night  resumes  its  power. 

The  pallid  light,  the  chilly  air 
Seem  almost  human,  faint  and  brief, 
Yet  scarcely  sad  :  as  though  there  were 
An  inner  peace  within  this  grief. 


57 


THE  twilight's  gradual  deepening, 

The  shrinking  day ; 

A  hall  wherein  pale  echoes  sing 

And  dead  harps  play  ; 

Where  suddenly  upon  the  pane  a  wing 

Strikes  and  is  gone,  and  all  the  sky  is  grey, 


DECEMBER 

CLOSE  the  mist  is  brooding  round, 
The  trees  are  great,  remote  and  pale, 

Mysterious  worlds  in  which  the  frail 
Thoughts  die,  and  every  muffled  sound 
Cowers  to  silence  blank  and  far. 

Where  is  certain  love  or  trust  ? 
Where  the  gaze  of  eyes  that  quite 

Move  out  to  ours,  whose  truest  sight 
Would  dare  acknowledge  how  we  must, 
Should  be,  simply  what  we  are  ? 


59 


60  DECEMBER 

All  are  lonely  ;  not  one  heart 
Beats  atune  and  all  at  one 

With  other  hearts,  and  almost  none 
Live,  that  do  not  live  apart. 


A  LILT  of  words  is  in  the  ear, 
Call,  spirit,  call  to  distant  things 
To  draw  them  with  desire  near. 

The  air  is  full  of  living  wings — 
A  music  in  the  whole  world  sings. 
The  writing  on  the  page  is  here. 


61 


Ill 


IN  THE  BREEZE 

BLUE  eyes  to  the  space  of  the  sea — 
Gold  hair  to  the  corn  of  the  land — 
Oh  eyes  drawn  to  the  love  to  be, 
Hair  so  soft  in  palm  of  the  hand — 

White  foam  give  birth  to  new  love, 
Change  turn  into  love  in  our  sight — 
Oh  corn,  corn,  the  great  sun  is  above — 
Ripen,  break  to  touch  of  his  light. 

Red  flowers  that  grow  in  the  corn, 
Death's  voice  and  the  corn  between, 
Oh  make  gift  to  the  love  new-born, 
Kill  all  pain  that  ever  has  been. 
E  65 


MIRROR  high  set  and  silent  as  a  star, 
Dead  diamond,  moonstone,  vague  mysterious 

gem, 

Aloof  from  images  of  things  and  yet  alive  by 
reason  of  the  life  in  them. 

Faces  and  flowers,  laughter  and  tears,  they 

are; 

But  you  the  mirage  temple  where  they  all 
In    long  procession    pass  and    all    merge   and 

emerge  to  music  of  oblivion's  call. 


66 


YOU  raise  a  child  up  for  a  while 
To  see  the  outer  passing  things  : 
You  watch  its  face,  each  object  brings 
A  look,  and  so  a  frown  or  smile. 

Life  calls  its  creatures  for  a  span 
Whole  worlds  to  see  and  seem  to  know 
The  changeful  pale  perceptions  grow 
And  fade  across  the  face  of  man. 


67 


EVENING  RAIN 

THE  first  sharp  rain-drops  touch  one  chosen 

leaf, 

The  dust  lies  dense  upon  the  straight  high- 
way; 
Beneath     the     closing     vaults     of    leaden 

grey 

The  earth  is  sleepy  as  in  weary  grief: 
Ah,    life    is    dull,    we     think,     and     yet    too 

brief- 
While  on  the  floor  that  those  clouds  build 

there  may 

Be  starbeams  dancing,  airy  sprites  a-sway, 
A    moving    band     of    whom    the     moon     is 
chief. 

68 


EVENING   RAIN  69 

And  up  above  our  weariness  there  dwell 

Stars  of  high  thought   and  moonbeams  of 

desire, 
That  tread  the  clouds  and  dance  with  feet 

a-fire ; 

And  bid  us  whisper  "  All  might  yet  be  well 
If  but  our  hands  could  never  fail  or  tire 
To  strike  the  chords  and  sweep  the  spirit's 
lyre." 


IN  THE  VINEYARDS 

WE  could  not  see  the  singer  of  our  song, 
Fresh  from  the  earth  among  the  vines  it  rose ; 
Young  was  the  voice,  the  young  man's  voice, 
and  strong. 

Thus   from   the  stem  the    vine's   new   vigour 

shows 

New  flight  of  impulse  to  the  year's  new  sun — 
The  cadence  slackens  and  the  singer  goes — 

May  love  await  him  now  his  work  is  done. 


70 


HER  LOVE 

You  judge  him  if  you  like.     Ask  why 
"  Bears  he  himself  with  that  hard  frown, 

Goes  upward  treading  others  down  ?  " 
But  always  I 

Desire  his  unbaulked  demand 
And  love  to  feel  within  his  hand 

My  fingers  crushed  until  I  cry. 

About  me  goes  the  world  and  all 
Its  business,  pleasure  ;  and  I  take 

My  share  within  them  for  one  sake, 
Which  is  to  fall 

Prone  at  his  feet  and  lay  all  there, 
The  wealth  of  all  the  gifts  that  were 
His  always  all. 


THE  JUDGE 

THERE  you  lie  dead,  whom  all  men  deemed 

me  hating. 

Who  measures  love  save  by  his  own  behest? 
Must  Angels  stand  unmoved  to  doom's  abating? 
Surely  your  sin  might  ask  a  little  rest. 

You    are    gone    hence,    gone    hence    to    your 

requiting. 

Oh,  were  I  judge,  high  judge,  to  set  you  free — 
Mine  is  the  sword  that  justice  asks  for  smiting, 
Be  it  not  false  that  you  so  injured  me. 

If  mine  the  wrong,  then  why  not  mine  forgiving  ? 

Yours  was  the  fall,  then  mine  the  hand  to  raise. 

72 


THE   JUDGE  73 

I  am  the  one  to  smooth  your  paths  of  living. 
Who  else  can  judge  what  only  I  appraise  ? 

Yes,  side  by  side  we'll  stand  for  our  defending. 
I'll  keep  erect  and  hold  you  while  they  speak. 
Rest  till  I  come,  your  knight  of  pity's  sending, 
Am  I  not  strong  and  you  so  very  weak  ? 


TWENTY  TO  THIRTY 

THINK  you  my  smile 

Is  fashioned  so  for  you, 

Should  I  seem  vile 

If  you  my  secrets  knew? 

Your  presence  through 

(But  sweet  is  love's  defile), 

Like  travellers  do 

I  look  beyond,  awhile. 

Dwelt  you  once  set 

Bright  jewel  in  a  soul  ? 

Are  your  eyes  wet 

With  tears  for  love  once  whole  ? 


74 


TWENTY   TO   THIRTY  75 

Raise  then  the  bowl, 
And  beckon  to  me  yet — 
Love  I'll  cajole, 
And  love  shall  you  forget. 


PRESENTIMENT 

SHE  sat  and  looked  upon  her  fair  white  hands, 
Warm  in  the  firelight  as  the  day  grew  dull, 
She    had     not     stepped     apart    from     God's 

commands, 

There   came    no   memory   which   she   need 
annul. 

Pure   hands,   whose  fingers   had   not   wrought 

one  wrong — 
Wherefore   the   sadness  of  the  eyes'   fixed 

look  ? — 

Within  the  twilight  rose  the  clouds  in  throng, 
And   leafless    branches   in   the   weird   wind 
shook. 

76 


BOY'S  love  !  unconscious  speaking  of  a  rhyme, 
First  childish  humming  of  love's  untaught 
lay; 

Shall  this  die  out  within  the  fresh  spring  time, 
Accounted  pretty  and  so  fade  away  ? 

It  seems  the  lifting  of  a  calm  warm  sea, 

Closed  by  long  islands  from  the  ocean's  main  ; 

And  in  a  boat  that  passes  glidingly, 

One  dips  her  hand  in  it,  and  smiles  again. 


77 


MOSAIC 

WITHIN  the  dome  of  sombre  chastened  gold 
Through  deep-set  windows  from  a  far  blue 

sky 
The    rays    descend,    in    golden    shades    to 

die, 
In    glowing    quietude     mellowed     deep    and 

old. 
Figured    are    there    the    saints    whose    hands 

still  hold 
The   emblems   of   the   toil   and   pain   gone 

by, 
Who  stand  by  Christ  to  hear  each  sorrow's 

cry 

The  endless  murmur  of  men's  griefs  untold. 
78 


MOSAIC  79 

But  small  bright  star-flowers  grow  around  the 

feet 

That  walked  the  path  of  holiness  and  pain, 
Sweet    to    the    soul     with     consolation's 

voice ; 
And  fair-leaved  palms  arched  up  above  them 

meet, 

As  if  the  saints  might  love  the  shade  again, 
Where  once  they  rested  on  their  path  of 
choice. 


BY  THE  WINDOW 

NOT  worthy  am  I  yet  to  feel 
The  touch  of  hands  so  strong,  so  true  : 
And  as  from  nights  most  clear  and  deep 
We  turn  and  sigh,  move  in  and  sleep, 
So  turn  my  eyes  away  from  you. 

Oh,  could  a  mist  but  upwards  steal 
(The  mist  that  glides  all  down  the  mead) 
To  veil  the  calm,  intenser  space, 
And  hide  the  eyes  in  heaven's  face  : 
Oh  then  were  we  more  near  indeed. 


80 


BETWEEN  THE  DANCES 

WE  are  friends  ;  the  music's  woken, 
Round  us  shines  the  polished  floor. 

Strange  to  feel  there  must  be  spoken 
One  last  word,  and  then  no  more. 

It  may  be  your  smile's  now  greeting 
That  small  word  ;  nor  have  we  known 

How  its  sound  shall  end  our  meeting, 
When  all  steps  are  moved  alone. 


81 


COLD  words  you  spoke,  some  chance  you  failed 

To  take  as  you  would  take  it  now 

To  please  me  :  have  these  so  prevailed, 

That  all  the  rest  has  shrunk  and  paled  ? 

I  neither  hear  nor  mark  them  now. 

But  in  this  fuller  union's  light 

That  now  is  ours  as  we  are  now, 
A  sorrow  rises  :   for  I  might 
Have  stood  so  blameless  in  your  sight, 
Had  I  been  then  as  I  am  now. 


82 


A  FACE 

I  SEEM  to  see  the  end 

Revealed  before  me,  momentwise. 
The  smiles  of  light  no  more  defend 

That  hollowness  of  eyes. 

I  seem  to  see  his  face 

As  it  will  be  when  hope  is  dim — 
Surely  no  other  will  replace 

What  we  have  found  in  him  ? 


PALE  GOLD 

NOTHING  in  you  perfect,  rounded — 
Golden  hair  that  seems  too  pale, 
Form  too  slight,  and  eyes  soon  sounded 
Where  the  flashes  quickly  fail. 

Still  we  love  you  through  your  being 

Full  of  music's  broken  airs, 

And  a  nature's  unforeseeing 

Of  our  tedious  whys  and  wheres. 

As  a  little  moss-born  river 
Humming  flows  beneath  the  grass, 
You  can  make  a  man's  heart  quiver, 
When  your  lightsome  footsteps  pass. 
84 


WE  parted  and  I  took  my  fill 

Of  eyes  and  all  the  lines  of  face  ; 

And  thought  "  I'll  hold  it  come  what  will, 
In  any  place 
Of  all  world's  space." 

We  parted — and  a  voice  grew  clear, 

As  clear  as  streams  no  weeds  defile, 
"  Be  thankful  that  your  friend  was  here, 

A  little  while 

With  friendship's  smile." 

We  parted — but  we  met  again, 
Yes,  often.     Till  as  morning  grew 
85 


One  day  through  showers  of  autumn  rain 

I  woke  and  knew 

No  thought  of  you  : 
But  you  had  passed  from  joy  and  pain. 


86 


AT  PALERMO 

HELD  in  the  breeze  the  orange  branches  move. 

I  stand  beside  the  turquoise  sapphire  sea 
And  wish  that  I  could  cease  to  think  of  thee, 
My  far  half-love  ! 

But  for  the  half-smile  of  your  faint  pale  flower, 

In  summer  garden  rich  with  deep  content 
I  had  been  now  perchance  ;  there  others  went, 
Each  in  his  hour. 

Time  was  it  then  for  flight  to  Southern  sun, 
They  went  the  others  southward  on  desire  ; 
Home  waited  there  beneath  the  fuller  fire 
For  everyone. 
8? 


88  AT    PALERMO 

But  under  rustle  of  those  wings  above, 

To  love  to  think  the  half-smile  if  I  may, 
Whole  summer's  smile  of  sunny  livelong  day  ; 
Is  that  not  love  ? 


IN  A  BALL-ROOM 

THEY  met  that  evening  and  they  spoke 
A  few  words  linked  by  chance, 

When  violins  with  a  sigh  awoke 
The  air  to  bid  us  dance. 

He  watched  the  grace  that  could  but  win 

The  eyes,  the  even  breath  ; 
And  felt  the  power  of  soul  within — 

They  parted  until  death. 

They  parted — but  she  bore  his  face, 
The  high,  the  brave,  the  clear, 

Where'er  she  went  in  every  place, 
It  made  the  good  more  dear. 
89 


90  IN    A    BALL-ROOM 

For  they  were  fashioned  so  to  be 
Each  for  the  other  quite 

Complete.     And  neither  he  nor  she 
Knew  love,  the  true,  the  right. 


ALONE? — Within  my  fingers  seem 
Enclosed  your  nervous  tender  hands, 
The  solitude  becomes  the  dream 
And  near  and  true  the  presence  stands. 

Together? — If  a  dream  can  throw 
Warm  colour  on  the  pallid  eyes, 
Perchance  a  moment  ;  till  we  know 
The  mockery  of  paradise. 


SPRING 

ALL'S  returning,  all  is  burning,  all  is  clear — 
All  seems  hopeful,  bright  in  yearning, 
But  we  are  sad  for  unreturning 
Of  what  was  dear. 

Spring  is  tender,  spring  will  render  all  things 

fair — 

Earth  now  makes  her  bride's  surrender, 
Only  to  the  griefs  not  tender, 
That  we  must  bear. 

We  are  broken,  by  sure  token,  from  the  Spring  ; 
Since  of  all  the  birds  awoken 
Not  ever  one  whose  wing  is  broken 
Will  fly  and  sing. 
92 


TRIVIA 

MORTEM  morituri  salutamus — 

It  came,  which  was  the  man  unknown, 

like  us. 
(Each  hour  the  many  live,  the  dead  are 

few—). 
There    moved     a    stillness    through    the 

crowd  and  hum — 
(Hats   raised    and    horses   reined — )   the 

mystery  grew 

A  moment  near,  then  passed  upon  its  way. 
Morituri  te 
Salutamus  mortuum. 


93 


WE  two  have  known  each  other, 
By  touch  of  mind  and  heart ; 

What  is  it  yet,  my  brother, 
That  holds  us  still  apart  ? 

Is  it  the  self-prevailing 

In  strength  of  thought  and  breath  ? 
Or  vision  of  the  failing, 

And  end  of  all  in  death  ? 


94 


ALONE 

WE  passed  an  Island  of  the  tropic  sea, 

Aflame  and  throbbing  to  the  noon-day  sun, 
Hot,   lonely   rocks,   where   never   once   will 
run 

The  feet  of  children,  lovers'  footsteps  be. 

No  leaf  grew  on  it,  not  a  flower.     No  tree 
Had  risen  there  and  breaking  upwards  won 
Its  crown  of  glory,  no  kind  act  been  done 

Within  its  borders.     It  was  lonely,  free. 

Our   deck    swirled    past   it    with    the   awning 

spread, 

Bright  dresses  clustering  as  a  bed  of  flowers 
Set  in  a  garden  that  a  fresh  air  sweeps. 
95 


96  ALONE 

But  it  lies,  ever  solitary,  dead  : 

With  foam  around  it  in  tempestuous  hours, 
Or  thralled  in  silence  when  the  ocean  sleeps. 


AT    BAYREUTH 

LET  them  gather  here  all  those  who  have  never 

Touched  with  their  lips  the  lips  they  prize ; 

Those   whom   the   years   as   they   vanish   will 

sever 

Further  away  from  the  face  and  eyes 
That  they  fain  would  see. 

Let  them  gather  here  when  lights  are  made 

lower, 

Violins  pant  in  dead  dark  air, 
Wake  with  a    laugh,    and  then  fail    and    are 

slower, 
Telling  the  tale  that  is  true  all  where 

By  a  great  decree. 
G  97 


98  AT    BAYREUTH 

Let    them    gather    here    and     sing    with    the 

singing, 

Float  on  the  storm  of  love  and  song, 
Clasp    the    dear    form    in     a    dream    that    is 

bringing 

Lips  to  their  lips  that  have  waited  long 
For  the  kiss  to  be. 

While  without  the  firs  in  the  star-lit  night 
Stand  with  a  murmur  of  wind  in  each  bough 

Where  the  ground  is  crisp  to  the  passing  feet, 

And  the  scented  boughs  enlace  and  meet, 
Meet  so  close  as  to  scarce  allow 

A   glimpse   of  the   sky   where    the    stars   are 
bright. 


THE    MOSLEM'S    TOMB 

THE  tomb  is  set  in  gardens  where  deep  space 
Of  leaves  and  shade  beside  the  marble  ways 
That  edge  the  pool,  bore  flowers  for  all  the 
days 

Throughout  the  years  of  all  his  life,  whose  place 
For  pleasure  this  was  once.  His  living  face 
Caught  here  the  smile  of  friends ;  and 

while  the  blaze 
Of  sun  lay  scorching  on  the  plains,  a  maze 

Of  foliage  closed  around  the  marble's  grace. 

This  was  his  pleasure  house  in  life.     At  last 
The  guests  unwittingly  his  latest  passed 
The  splendid  gate  that  he  re-entered  dead. 
99 


ioo  THE  MOSLEM'S  TOMB 

And  now  amid  the  gardens  by  the  pool, 
The  tomb  stands  softly  gleaming,  shaded,  cool, 
Like  calm  quiescence  that  repels  all  dread. 


MURANO 

SOME  say  that  it  was  poisoned  wine 
Red  in  the  glass  beyond  compare — 
Fine  was  the  glass,  its  lip  most  fine  ; 
The  red  lips  touched  it  quivering  there. 


And  now  the  eyes  have  peace,  for  they 
Have  seen  the  vision,  the  desired — 
Rich  grows  the  closing  of  the  day — 
Row  to  the  sunset,  life  is  tired. 


101 


HEIMWEH 

THE    words    stand    written  ;    but    our    hearts 

return 

To  that  unshapen  misty  sense  we  knew, 
And   homewards  thither   from    the   sound   we 

ysarn 

Towards    the     hours    wherein    the    passion 
grew. 

Shall  there  be  one  unspeaking  of  all  speech, 
Fresh    with   the    freedom    of  a   wide    pure 

sea, 

Like  mighty  sudden  wave-wash  on  the  beach 
That    drowns     the    footmarks,    leaves    the 
broad  sands  free  ? 
102 


A  MIRROR 

FADED  and  dim 

I  cannot  live  but  dreaming  now : 

The  lines  of  gold  which  are  my  carven  rim 

Of  honey  seem  and  gold-dust,  pale  and  old. 

And  when  the  light 

Strikes  on  my  face  it  makes  strange  hues 
Of  dance  that  dies,  and  all  the  balmy  night 
Faintly  the  tapers  flicker  in  my  eyes. 

And  all  the  night 
Sweet  and  persistent  sings  a  song, 
Most  dear  refrain,  across  my  shadowy  sight  ; 
"  Life  was  and  is  not,  is  and  is  again.' 
103 


BY  THE  SHORE 

PURE  and  calm  the  fir  trees  stand 
Each  in  commune  with  a  star, 
And  the  snow  is  stretching  far, 
Veiling  all  the  silent  land, 
All  the  forest,  to  the  shore. 

Snow  of  foam  and  foam  of  snow 
Leave  a  sandy  narrow  strip, 
Touch  from  touch  and  lip  from  lip 
Failing,  sundered  ever  so ; 

While  the  stars  grow  more  and  more. 


104 


IV 


VISHNU 

"  OH  Vishnu,  hear  us,  for  the  sky  is  thine — 
Have  pity   soon  and  our    blank   hunger 

fill. 

For  ever  on  thy  sacred  altar  will 
The  fruits  lie  glowing  and  the  sweet  flowers 

shine." 
The    crowd    moves    thickly,    and    the    placid 

kine 
Pace    the    broad    halls    where    bats    are 

crying  shrill : 
Harsh  music  screams  and  deep  green  tanks 

lie  still 

And  wide   courts   shadeless   round   the  close- 
walled  shrine. 

107 


io8  VISHNU 

There  all  is  silent,  and  the  God  alone 

In  dense  air  weighted  with  the  flowers  those 

bring 
Who  seek   some  easing  of  their    evil  day  : 

While  on  the  oil-stained  surface  of  the  stone 
A  bright  blue  insect  with  its  airy  wing 
Lights  for  a  moment  and  then  flies  away. 


BY  THE  BULWARKS 

THE  water's  all  around  us  both,  wind  swept 
on  every  side, 

Its  hidden  depths  beneath  us  shroud  the  secret 
of  the  tide  : 

And  our  ship  moves  heaving  onwards,  labour- 
ing slowly  on, 

And  the  world  moves  on  for  ever.  But  we 
shall  die  anon. 

Cease  to  be  friends,  no  longer  near  a  heart,  a 

voice,  a  hand  : 
Tossed  ever  on  the  mighty  waste,  apart  from 

home  and  land. 


109 


WE  have  two  moods,  two  visions,  if  we  will. 
The  one   to  see   immensity   in  greatness  and 

to  say : 

"  Vain  pride,  be  still, 
A  speck  is  man,  a  moment  all  his  living  day." 

But  with  the  other  in  each  grain  of  sand 
Again  to  see  immensity  in  smallness,  and  to 

know 

How  high  we  stand 
Who  breathe  and  live  and  from  the  sand  did 

slowly  grow. 


no 


IN  THE  PARTHENON 

UPGATHERED  strength  of  hours  and  hours — 
One  hour  of  man's  long  day  is  whole, 
Like  scent  of  all  a  garden's  flowers 
Enshrined  within  one  marble  bowl. 

So  gained,  a  ridge  that  cuts  the  sky — 
So  heard  a  note  that  crowns  the  song — 
Let  then  the  feeble  ages  die 
If  but  one  hour  be  true  and  strong. 


IN  THE  LUXEMBOURG 

HE  dances,  he  dances — 

Sweet  solemn  garden  of  the  quieter  way, 

Proud  heart  of  France — 

He  dances,  he  dances,  night  and  day, 

Bronze  shapely  faun,  all  life's  entrancing  dance. 

He  dances,  he  dances — 
By  lime  trees  flowering,  or  by  opal  grey 
Pale  rosy  fadings  of  the  frosty  day, 
Spirit  of  fine  delight,  he  dances — 
Dear  heart  of  France,  he  dances,  gay. 


112 


To  fretful  man  one  single  speech  have  all 
Those  myriad  stars  :  but  that  how  clear,  how 

great — 

"  Be  still  before  our  eyes,"  their  voices  call, 
"  And  to  each  other  generous  ;  for  hate 
Is  small  ;  and  we  should  be   like  lamps  you 

set 

In  gardens  at  fair  festivals  to  light 
On  from  the  halls  of  dance,  to  groves  where 

yet 
A  deeper  beauty  fills  the  silent  night." 


SOME  weep  for  common  things, 

Hunger  and  pain  ; 

To  them  no  music  ever  sings, 

To  them  the  sweet  air  never  brings 

One  fancy's  strain. 

Some,  free  to  mark  each  touch, 

Each  mood  that  grows, 

Are  drawn  to  seek  too  far,  too  much; 

And  grieve  for  failure.     Grieve  with  such, 

But  pity  those. 


114 


THE  PLANTATION. 

THE  valley's  space  was  chill  and  dead, 
Night  passed  to  day  : 
The  coming  of  the  rains  had  spread 
The  sky  with  grey. 

A  trumpet  struck  against  the  air 
Its  lonely  stroke  ; 
The  labourers  who  sleeping  were 
To  toil  awoke. 


115 


HUMAYOUN 

THE  library  is  finished,  set  high  up  with  four 
Clear  arches  for  the  air's  pure  feathery  wings 
To  pass,  and  day  no  dust  or  tumult  brings 

But  colours  merely  glow  and  shine  the  more. 

Within  the  corners  rich  with  wisdom's  store 
The    sage    gives    knowledge   and   the   poet 

sings, 
Nor  fitter  roof  for  silent  communings 

Has  ever  arched  a  cool  and  marble  floor. 

Revolving  was  it  those  dear  hours  to  be 

Here  in  the  converse  of  the  true,  the  strong, 
That  he,  the  Emperor,  slipped  upon  the 
stair  ? 

116 


HUMAYOUN  117 

What  had  he  seen  that  he  might  never  see 
Had  he  remained  amidst  the  city's  throng 
Nor    sought   the   tempting   stillness   that 
was  there. 


LET  me  pass  in  and  by  your  side 

Watch  in  the  chamber  that  your  sorrow  knows. 

Night  reigns  as  yet, 

Not  yet  the  grey,  a  breath  before  the  rose. 

Thus  the  long  hours  may  seem  less  long, 
Sadness  less  sad,  since  two  must  bear  it,  less. 
While  near  to  us 
Gather  pale  hopes  that  neither  dared  to  guess. 


118 


KWANNON 

THE   figure,  dark  beneath  the  niche's  golden 

roof, 
Dwells  in  its  deep  seclusion,  tender  yet  most 

far  aloof — 
The   carven   forms   are   writing  of  the   peace 

divine — 
And  music  of  all  peace  the  shapings  of  the 

deepening  shrine. 

Kwannon  the  merciful,  guardian  of  life's  further 

ways, 
We  come  towards  you  from  the  burden  of  the 

streets  and  days. 


119 


120  KWANNON 

Since  you  are  powerful,  by  the  power 
Of  nobler  passion  to  release 
From  baser  passion's  evil  hour ; 
Since  you  are  merciful,  by  kindness,  to  your 
peace. 


IN  that  a  shadow  seemed  to  pass 
Across  the  mirror's  polished  sheen, 
Lurks  there  a  shade  within  the  glass 
Because  that  passing  shade  has  been  ? 

It  holds  the  power  to  mirror  still 
A  cloud,  a  flower,  the  star,  the  smile  ; 
Draw  but  a  curtain  if  you  will 
Before  it,  let  it  rest  awhile. 


121 


COGNITIO 

WHITE  soul,  be  blessed  of  me,  although 
Words  scarcely  reach  your  wildered  sense, 
For  torches  of  red  passion  go 
A-dance  around  your  innocence. 

White  figure  in  their  midst,  the  moon 
Touches  each  tender  shuddering  line ; 
A  mist  to  be,  a  nothing  soon — 
And  so  at  last  entirely  mine. 


122 


AT  CAIRO 

Here  would  I  wish  my  friend  to  stand, 
In  Hasan's  mosque,  when  I  am  dead. 
The  heat  sinks  down  on  all  the  land, 
Mellow  the  sky  grows  overhead. 

The  four  great  arches  hold  the  shade 
Recessful  for  the  peace  of  prayer, 
And  round  the  court  most  nobly  made 
Great  letters  speak  God  everywhere. 

All  should  he  see,  as  I  now  see 
Arches  and  sky  and  carven  writ ; 
Then,  as  a  chance,  some  thought  of  me 
Should  come,  as  his  eyes  rest  on  it. 
123 


PROCESSIONAL 

CLEAR  on  my  heart  I  thought  love  stamped 

its  sign, 
Until  one  spoke  who  said :  "  Dark  knots 

entwine 
Your  heart."  Then  love  or  hatred  which  is 

mine  ? 

And  I,  what  am  I  ?      I,  this  thing  called  I  ? 
The  rocks  cast  back  the  whirring  useless  cry. 

Let    us    pass    on    and    leave    this    struggling 

thing, 
This    battling    thing,   which    is    the    tangled 

puzzling 

124 


PROCESSIONAL  125 

Of  "  what    am   I."      Let   silence    come.     We 

bring 
Our    best    to    deck    the     shrine,    our    utmost 

offering. 


AEOLIAN 

HARP  that    dead  hands  in   the   deep  garden 

hung, 
Whose  are  the  shudderings  of  your  sobs  and 

cries  ? 
The  long  night  through  your  helpless  strings 

have  rung 
Racked  by  the  wind  beneath  the  mad  moon's 

eyes. 

Echo  you  hold  of  nameless  dead  regret ; 
And  our  pain  too  will  sometime  come  to  be 
Part  of  your  helpless  painless  pain,  and  yet 
To  us  it  seems  the  world's  one  threnody. 


126 


THE  opal's  world  of  tender  greys — 

(Long  starlit  nights  and  fair  succeeding  days) 

A  casual  turn 

Shows  where  the  hidden  lightnings  burn. 

Cruel  can  those  be  who  gentle  are — 

(No  smile  to-day,  to-night  no  liquid  star) — 

Such  opaline 

Strange  gem  of  change  is  yours  and  mine. 


127 


LONDON,   1883 

THE  dusty  western  sky  is  red 
With  fragments  of  earth's  vital  fire, 
It  seems  a  breathing,  of  the  dead 
And  shred  of  drifting  dead  desire. 

Wide  glory  turns  this  quivering  dust 
To  splendour  which  our  eyes  possess, 
Content ;  since  life  and  love  and  lust 
All  must  transform  to  shapelessness. 


128 


O  MAY  the  gods  forgive  us,  that  we  prize 
Beyond  the  spring  and  summer  of  all  things 
One  single  life,  that  in  our  eyes 
One  beauty  thrones,  that  all  the  rest  above 
One  accent  sings. 

They  will  forgive  us  surely,  since  the  whole 
Wide  realm  is  theirs  to  love,  as  we  each  love 
That  single  thing,  the  spring  of  each   man's 
life  and  soul. 


129 


MADRIGAL 

LOVE  came  to  them  with  music  fraught 
Borne  on  the  summer  air  unsought, 
More  sweet  than  hope,  more  keen  than  thought ; 
And  slew  each  baser  pain. 

So  perfect  was  the  golden  cup 
Their  clasped  hands  lifted  trembling  up, 
To  drink  the  wine  within  the  cup  ; 
On  lips  with  longing  fain — 

O  love,  come  then  and  gently  sing 
How  dim  death  lurks  in  everything, 
That  even  thou  canst  never  bring 
High  joy  to  these  again. 
130 


A  POET.  FRESCO  AT  ORVIETO 

THE    page    half- written    and     the    half- page 

white — 

Untouched  beneath  his  hand  the  rest  he  knows 
Are  blank  unwritten  still  and  spotless  quite. 
How  shape  the  verses  and  the  tale  of  those  ? 

A  breath  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  turns 
There  to  the  window,  and  so  comes  to  see 
Sun  blazing,  while  his  thought  so  feebly  burns  : 
He  shuts  the  book  contented.     It  will  be. 


SEGESTE 

TEMPLE  of  the  stately  pillars,  temple  with  the 

spacious  gaze — 
Never  made  complete  for  worship,  never  made 

the  home  of  praise — 

He,  perhaps,  whose  mind  had  formed  you,  saw 

you  as  you  should  have  been 
With   the   shrine   amidst  the   pillars  that  the 

God  might  pass  between. 

Little  knew   he   that   his  handcraft,  thus  un- 
finished, would  outlast 

Other  works  of  crowned  completion,  signal  of 
his  people's  past. 

132 


SEGESTE  133 

Signal  of  a  note  of  living,  straight  regarding, 

high  and  free, 
With  its  pride  of  Greek  perfection  and  its  gaze 

on  hill  and  sea. 


SECUNDRA 

STILL  as  a  dead  man's  breath, 
The  heat  of  the  day,  nor  soon 

Will  its  power  abate. 
And  wide  with  the  width  of  death, 
The  path  that  leads  to  the  tomb 

Of  Akbar  the  Great — 

High  seen  many  a  mile, 

By  plains  wide,  dusty  and  pale, 

The  tomb  in  its  might — 
Where  deep  in  the  haughty  pile 
The  heats  all  shiver  and  fail 

As  in  winter  night. 


SECUNDRY  135 

There's  the  place  where  he  lies 
Dim  chamber  spacious  and  grey 
And  lit  by  one  ray. 

But  up  in  the  blue  of  the  skies, 

High  in  the  blaze  of  the  day, 

Is  a  courtyard  sunny  and  clear, 

Bordered  with  marble  as  fine  as  lace, 

Paved  with  a  floor  that  the  angels  might  pace, 

Might  tread  with  feet  unshod, 

Looking  with  angels'  eyes 

By  the  bright  false  tomb  that  is  here, 

Looking  to  see  the  Koh-i-noor  shine, 

The  great,  proud  stone  that  was,  Akbar,  thine, 

Till  thou  wentest  from  it  to  God. 


A  ROMAN  PEASANT 

THERE  lurks  within  his  sultry  depths  of  eyes 
A  vague  remembrance  of  forgotten  thought, 
Reflection     there     of     deeds     his     fathers 

wrought, 

Triumphal  stillness  like  his  Roman  skies. 
For  very  slowly  ancient  wonder  dies 

From    nations'    veins,    and   his    perchance 

are  fraught 
With  mantling  blood  of  one  whom   sages 

taught 
The  Grecian  wisdom,  with  all  Rome  his  prize. 

Dominion,  knowledge,  pride  and  pomp  of  state, 
Move  in  procession,  mingle  into  dust, 

136 


A    ROMAN    PEASANT  137 

Leaving  their  relics  on  the  weary  plain  ; 
And  eyes  like  his.     But  life  is  prouder,  great, 
Most  persevering,  though  expire  it  must 
By  very  strength,  to  wake  elsewhere  again. 


SINCE  as  the  flying  leaves  we  are 
Caught  from  the  earth's  warm  breast, 
Wrecks  on  the  wind,  that  hurried  far 
Fly  on  from  home  and  rest : 

Lean  back  upon  the  wind,  poor  leaves, 
A  chant  is  in  its  breath, 
With  power  to  drown  the  note  that  grieves 
For  pathos  of  your  death. 


138 


AMIDST  our   friends  beside  their  living  eyes 

and  speech, 
There    comes    the    presence    of  some   far 

unvoiceful  place  : 
And  half  in  dread  and  half  in  strange  desire, 

reach 

Our    souls    towards    that     solitary    silent 
space. 

And   when   we  live  where  solitude   unbroken 

dwells, 

Pulsation  beats  within  the   air,  and  round 
us  sing 


Strange  melodies  unformed  and  broken  chimes 

of  bells, 

As  though  the  wind  half  held  dim  sounds 
it  could  not  bring. 


140 


SELINONTO 

AT  Selinonto  where  the  city  stood, 

The  pillars  sleep  like  rocks  in  silent  rest, 
For  Nature  gathers  to  her  flowery  breast 

The  pageant  of  the  temples'  goodlihood. 

Hardly  a  sign  to  mark  another  mood 

From    her    proud    stillness ;    scarcely   had 

we  guessed 

That  fair  and  bright  with  sacred  garlands 
dressed, 

All  white  and  blue  and  red,  the  temples  stood. 

These  stones  are  like  tired  faces  whence  has  fled 
The  touch    of  youth   and  life,  which   all   but 
dead, 

141 


142  SELINONTO 

Hold    yet   some    sign    of  human   use    and 

grace. 

Above  the  sky  spreads  wide  its  calm  decree, 
While  past  the  ruins  down  the  sapphire  sea, 
Keen  to  the  westward  maned  white  horses 
race. 


ONLY 

As  a  flower  on  a  river's 

Sharp  eddying  whirls  : 

As  a  red  leaf  that  shivers 

And  shuddering  twirls 

To  the  ground  :  so  are  we  in  our  way. 

Save  that  only  a  dreaming, 

A  heaven-sent  pride, 

Makes  us  each  in  the  seeming 

Of  truth,  set  aside 

His  own  life  :  so  are  we  not  as  they. 

That  "  only  "  and  therefore 
All  strength  of  desire, 


144  ONLY 

Of  the  hope,  and  the  wherefore 

Each  soul  is  a-fire 

And  all  love  in  their  fashion  and  day. 


OASIS 

YOU  watch  as  I  do  that  full  fountain  there, 
The  sky  is  rainless  and  the  white  clouds  pass, 
The  rocks  are  burning,  the  wide  earth  is  bare, 
Here  only  are  there  flowers  and  fresh-hued  grass. 

Surely  now  somewhere  in  some  distant  place 
The  rain  is  falling  with  its  rustling  sound, 
And  lulled  in  ecstasy  of  sky-fed  grace 
The  grasses  whisper  to  the  moistened  ground. 

And  thence  amid  mountains, 
That  so  arid  seem, 
Flow  on  the  fountains 

And  so  dreamers  dream. 
K  145 


BEETHOVEN 

A  MASS  of  mighty  chords  in  strength, 
Aroused  from  Aeons'  slumber  deep, 
As  though  upon  a  world  of  sleep 
The  voice  creative  moved  at  length. 

Transfusing  tender  pure  and  strong 
Melodious  voice — and  all  around 
In  undertones  the  torrents'  sound 
Expands  the  high  sustained  song. 

And  as  we  listen  throne  on  throne 
The  shadowed  mountains  sombre  grow, 
And  sunset  splendour  lights  the  snow 
On  heights  that  dwell  apart,  alone. 
146 


SNOW 

THE  snow  enwraps  the  silent  land, 
The  earth  is  white,  the  sky  is  grey, 
Bright  tho'  sunless  seems  the  day, 

Silent  as  a  desert  sand. 

Neither  moves  a  breath  of  air, 
Labour  ceases,  birds  are  still : 
Is  it  then  the  snow  that  will 

Shroud  us  too  who  living  were  ? 

Wrap  us  round  and  make  to  pass 
All  our  tumult  and  our  pain  ; 
Vexed  not  evermore  again 

Hidden  as  to-day,  the  grass  ? 


As  the  sound  of  the  bell 

Of  a  flock  on  the  hills 

In  a  moist  cool  land  ; 

As  the  depth  of  a  well 

That  a  sure  spring  fills 

Through  a  white  clean  sand  ; 

So  is  the  voice  that  I  faintly  hear. 


148 


NOR  YES  NOR  NO 

HE  was  no  bearer  of  the  torch 
Nor  caught  by  any  God-sent  flame  ; 
No  prophet  in  the  temple's  porch  : 
Nor  worthy  of  a  poet's  name, 
For  praise  or  blame. 

Merely  one  awoke  from  sleep 
Come  to  wonder  how  the  day 
May  be,  will  be  ;  and  to  creep 
Through  the  darkness,  draw  away 
Curtains  that  the  darkness  keep  : 
So  to  see  the  morning's  grey 
Fill  a  valley  broad  and  deep. 

149 


THERE  is  no  name  for  it,  no  sound. 
It  is  beyond  our  life,  our  death  ; 
More  tender  than  the  softest  breath 
In  meadows  where  sweet  flowers  abound ; 
More  solemn  than  the  breakers'  strength 
When  tempests  catch  their  crested  length 
And  surging  drag  the  stricken  ground  : 

There  is  no  sound  for  it,  no  name. 


802195 


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